


rebirth

by puppydeanandjen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Gore, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Demons, Minor Character Death, Other, Rites of Passage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 21:16:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16272512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puppydeanandjen/pseuds/puppydeanandjen
Summary: The final ritual of Sam Winchester's ascent to the throne.





	rebirth

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, hey. So season 14 has begun and I have so many boy king feels rn. I decided to post my first and only boy king fic here that I wrote a week ago in celebration. I'll probably post another ficlet that relates more to season 14 on my tumblr tomorrow. Anyways I hope you enjoy!

_ Burning. _

Sam’s whole world is burning, bursting from the inside as the acid called holy water sears his stomach. Every part of his body rejects the fluid, screaming for release he’ll never give it; the amount is not enough to kill him, but it’s enough to leave his legs wobbly and powers diminished.

Trembling hands twist the brass knob, door hinges creaking loudly upon use. Needles prick at the bare soles of his feet as they touch the carpet; the branches decorated in thrones wrapped around his head have now pierced through the skin, blood streaming down the curves of his face until it drips from the jaw, leaving a trail in his wake. He forces numb legs to travel down the aisle-feigning confidence in front of the audience watching from the outside-as if he were a fucked up version of a  _ bride _ about to be wed. 

There’s liquid trickling down from his sockets when the pupils gaze over to the stained glass windows that pours light and belief through them. The walls are painted in pure white like the wool of a baby lamb, contrasting the dark oak of the benches that lay on either side of him.

Only four humans here, praying in between rows, and Sam thinks about how lucky he is that his soul won’t be soiled in innocent children as he snaps his fingers, crimson filling his vision.

He bends down, swallowing puke rising in his throat, and rubs his hands into the now soaked floor. Then he’s walking again, heading towards the altar-the nausea worsens with each step he takes towards it. 

Finally arriving upon the table, Sam peers upward at the now visible cross that hangs brilliantly on the wall in the dead center of the windows. With a simple flick of the head, it begins to rotate-sound of wood scraping across plaster reverberates like nails against a chalkboard, affirming the title that he’s claiming-until completely upside down.

Hands strip away the satin cloth atop the table, droplets of red thunking against the wood. He begins to paint symbols on the surface, engraving the blood of fallen followers and his own onto this holy land. Latin spills rapidly from his lips, heart chipping with each syllable as he succumbs to the destiny that he never wanted.

His palm slams into the middle as he shouts the remaining bits of defiance.

Everything fades to black for a moment before he awakens again; his footing staggers, hand still planted in the middle of the circle, brain processing the events that had transpired. The stained glass above has darkened under the lack of light. He turns to meet a hundred demons that have gathered inside, now free to roam the corrupted land.

They fall to their knees, bowing before the new king of hell, but Sam feels no joy. Only regret in the path that he’s chosen.


End file.
